


Alias

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, straight up smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between season 1 and 2. Old Gundam 00 summer exchange fic request for the dirty as all hell Ali x Lyle smut. They have too many code names-- Gene-1 is in over his head. Non-con switch is halfway through, if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alias

Gene-1 reminds himself people have  _died_  trying to get where he is now, leaning just so over the bar with a hand on his hip, the other clutching a glass of the foulest tasting gin in all of the AEU. The drink won't kill him, but Lt. Gary Biaggi, sitting four meters to his left, just might, if he doesn't play this game perfectly.

  
  
It's not that he's a bad player, but Biaggi isn't simply a dog of war like Shirin's dossier noted. The man is a wolf. The kind that prowls around its prey just out of range to give it hope, then attacks without mercy. Fortunately, weeks of careful surveillance revealed that the former Legionnaire is a picky eater. Lately it's only been business and engineering elites, former MPs, UN administration officers, top Union brass and anyone else that got entangled with the late Ambassador Corner a year ago. Katharon doesn't know why. Katharon may not care why, as long as the man's targets coincide with their own. Gene-1 was dispatched here to make things a bit more official between them and this one-man-army, though it doesn't look hopeful. But at the very least, he should be able to keep their members out of Biaggi's crosshairs.

  
He watches his target a moment longer, realizing this is the closest yet he's been to Biaggi, physically, because 15k optical zoom doesn't count and it certainly doesn't pick up the way he moderates between his tablemates in a vaguely domineering way, squeezing what he wants from them with velvet gloves. Gene-1's eyes are glued to him, hungrily taking in every tiny roll of his broad shoulders or slight flex of his thick arm as he leans further back in his chair and raises his glass. He has heard Biaggi's voice, thick and husky as it booms Farsi or Arabic or French straight into his earpiece, but it's different now through the smoke and rumbling static of the bar. The swagger is actually louder, edgier, and Gene-1 is fascinated by it, the distinct low rumble going straight to his cock. He has seen photos of Biaggi before, in business suits with his unruly mane tied back or else in mobile suits, with black and red clinging to every line of his towering form. But Gene-1 has never caught the man as he is now, the knife-sharp creases and smooth fabric of his rolled up sleeves are a stark contrast to the bright tattoo and scars that jut out angrily from under the clean fabric. He thinks it fits the man's profile exactly: tempered and polished on the outside, marred and distorted on the inside. Pure violence honed in a steady blade. A man who could easily approach the most secure targets with the darkest of intentions.

  
Gene-1 stares a bit too long, a bit too solidly, and suddenly there are sharp green eyes trained on him under a stray fringe of red. An amused grin. A slanted hint of teeth. A look he's never mistaken before.

  
  
Katharon may not have much to offer the infamous veteran, but Gene-1 thinks he may have something to sweeten the deal. He isn't wondering if he wants do it -because his cock clearly does- he's wondering if he  _can_  do it. This could be more dangerous than facing off with the man properly, down the barrel of a gun, and the challenge only excites him more. He flashes the unhinged lieutenant a smile. Turns around to pick his glass up again. Hips and ass cocked out. Then he angles in reverse slightly, glass to his lips and jacket open to reveal how his shirt clings to his chest.

  
  
Biaggi doesn't blink an eye. He simply stands, picks up jacket, and saunters over to Gene-1 in a way that says he fucks like the apocalypse just passes him by.

  
  
Before the older man can speak a single word, Gene-1 leans in close to Biaggi's ear, cuts to the chase. Welcome Back From the Dead, Lieutenant. Biaggi looks shocked for a second, then bursts out into a roar of laughter, the sound twisted and murky and too amused for a man who's trying to stay underground. But Gene-1 doesn't stink of any official agencies, doesn't flinch when large hands suddenly hold him captive by his collar. He doesn't break way from those sharp green eyes that start sweeping over him slow and predatory and yes, they're going to fuck.

  
Gene-1's steady voice gives him a bit of credit, though his hand is shaking, fingers hidden as they curl under the edge of the counter. I'm Here to Pick You Up, If You're Interested. Well Now Interested In What? Biaggi's distorted laughter is still in his voice, creeping to his eyes. Revolution. The word is drawn out, lips lifting into bold curves at the end.

  
* * *

  
They get in the door and Biaggi tears Gene-1's coat off, hands pawing up and down his chest in rough lines that make him shudder and curse and work to get a good breath in. He's had a few rough fucks before, but no one like Biaggi, who descends on him so completely, scratching as he peels the tight fabric off and leaving bite marks in its wake. The thought of being eaten alive should send panic through his veins, but instead he moans and grinds his hips against Biaggi's. This How You Like It? All he gets is that dark laughter and a harsh shove to his knees.

  
Biaggi takes the time to unbutton his own shirt slowly, inspecting the younger man as he encircles him, each footstep a heavy echo to Gene-1's heaving breaths. Gene-1 watches him, twisting and alert and ready. He catches a glimpse of that bright tattoo again, of fangs clamping angrily over the spread of dark scarring, and he swallows. But his breath evens out and his legs stop trembling. He can do this. He can go through with it. He reaches out, stopping Biaggi mid-prowl, adrenaline pumping through him as his hands snake up the lieutenant's legs and catch in the man's waistband. Biaggi's laughter lowers to a pleased growl when Gene-1 takes the other man's zipper in his teeth, pulling down slowly with his whole body.

  
  
Biaggi pushes Gene-1's head back then slides his cock all the way into his mouth. He's gagging, choking for air, but Biaggi keeps him there until his throat relaxes, fingers raking through soft brown strands. Biaggi fucks the young agent's face in drawn out strokes and Gene-1 can tell it's an act, a phony restraint, even though Biaggi sighs and leans his head beak. It doesn't last long. Biaggi yanks him off, grins down at him feral and wild, and orders Against The Bed.

  
  
Gene-1 wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and picks himself up. He loses his pants along the way, matching the older man's grin as best he can before bending over. He has a moment to steady himself before he feels large hands spreading him wide and feels a hot, wet tongue slipping in and out of his ass until it's dripping.  _Fuck_. He tries not to push back, tries to keep his head from unraveling. Don't Stop, Fuck, Please. But the tongue draws out and in one swift motion Biaggi lances into him and holds perfectly still, savoring the feeling of Gene-1 trembling from head to toe with the shock.

  
You And Your Little Cat-Whatever Group Know Nothing About Revolution. The words reach his ears through the haze of pain, before Biaggi's hand winds around his hips and starts jerking him with the slow, drawn out strokes.

  
  
You Have No Idea How To Change The World. Carve It and Control It. Forge it. The words fall heavily around him while Biaggi picks up the pace. Own It. He starts thrusting harshly into Gene-1 now, in and out and faster and more brutal, and this is the point where Gene-1 realizes he's lost completely.

  
  
You Have No Idea What's Happening Here, Huh? Do You? Biaggi starts to chuckle, voice smug and dripping with swagger straight into his ear. Gene-1 clamps his teeth over his moans and braces against the bed as twisted laughter roars through both their bodies, rumbles through the room, and he comes so hard, vertigo taking over and making him shiver like someone just walked on his grave.

  
  
The lieutenant follows soon after, filling him up. He's still laughing, even after he finishes and shoves Gene-1 sprawling on the bed. Too Bad, Kid. I'm Not Interested In Your Revolution.

  
Gene-1 can't lift his head to see, but he hears the footsteps and the door and the sudden silence is hard to mistake. Complete mission failure. He feels like dying for a moment before he remembers Klaus and the simple fact that Biaggi has two predicted-targets left, so there's time for final decisions. If this loose cannon Biaggi doesn't want to be allied, Gene-1 can play that game too, with a little help from his enemies at the FSA. The ol' Enemy of My Enemy game- it makes his stomach twist almost as hard. He groans, curling up on the bed as his body aches, but his pride mends itself quickly because he can close his eyes and focuses on one clear thought: he never wants to hear that laughter again.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> Originally archived on Livejournal (Gundam 00 summer exchange) and http://newtypebanana.blogspot.com/


End file.
